


The Truth The Whole Truth & Nothing But The Truth

by Coinkydinks



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, First Crush, Kid Fic, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-08-10 03:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20128801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coinkydinks/pseuds/Coinkydinks
Summary: Based off of Micro Sf/F stories on Twitter:"Release me," the frog said, "and I will grant you a wish.""Oh!" the boy said, "I wish to understand all animals!"All the way home he listened to birds, and he excitedly told his father."That's nice," his father said, but the boy heard "Whatever, don't disturb me."Or, alternatively: Wade can talk to animals and Peter is a spider.





	1. The Crow.

“Release me,” normally, Wade would’ve had. However, it wasn’t every day that he was face to face with a talking crow. For a brief moment he considered if he had been mistaken for a Disney princess, after all, he was wearing a tutu. Wade looked down at the crow, considering it for a moment.

  
“Why should I?” he asked, leaning his head back on the tree he was sitting on. He was meant to be being rescued. But his so-called “knight in shining armour” must have a terrible sense of direction. It had been over an hour since he last saw the knight, with his merry troop of men heading in the opposite direction to defeat the “dragon.” He had insisted that the dragon must be defeated first, and then he’d save the princess. The dragon - if you could call it that - was a stack of old beer boxes Wade’s dad had left outside. Wade asked if he could borrow them for a day. His father rolled over on the couch, with his back facing Wade. He took that as a yes.  
  


If asked, he could absolutely get down. He just didn’t want to. The crow craned its neck and watched as the sun started to set, casting a row of black teeth that bit down on the park, swallowing it whole. “I’ll grant you a wish,” it said, a little desperately. Looking over Wade’s shoulder at the descendant of shadows, nearing the base of the tree.  
  


“Oh! I wish I could understand all animals.”

The crow blinked.

“You… you don’t wish to get down?”

“Nope!” said Wade, cheerfully. His knight would come.

“Well then - stay still, this may hurt a little…”

Wade gasped, immediately releasing the crow as it let out a strangled cry, that sounded oddly like a human’s. The crow lifted its wings, and white, glowing orbs diffused from the tips of its feathers, circling his wrists and travelling up along his body to the crown of his head. They sounded like wind chimes. They lowered themselves, almost timidly, to the sides of his face. A multiple pair of hands clawed at his ear, and slowly crawled inside. The ringing filled his head. He blinked, once, twice and on the third time his head rolled back with the rest of him, and he fell onto the ground below.  
Well, he supposed that was one way to get down.

All the way home, Wade to birds, to the bumblebees - who, to Wade’s surprise swore softly underneath their breath, and sounded like little old ladies - and to his neighbour’s dog, Rex. Rex was a rescue dog. He had half of an ear and little cuts all over his body. He’d slept outside, out on the porch guarding the house. If anyone came too close, Rex would bare his teeth - their one and final warning - before he threw himself at the metal, chain fencing that boarded off the house from the main road. Unless it was Wade. Rex liked Wade ever since he found a bone at the bottom of a dumpster, outside of the local butchers. Why exactly Wade was there in the first place is another story for another time. Wade makes weekly visits to the dumpster, now, in search for one big enough for Rex to gum on. Rex doesn’t have any teeth left, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. It takes him an entire week to finish. He liked Wade even more now that he could make requests. “A few lamb chops, if it’s no trouble.” head resting on the front of his feet. He doesn’t ask how Wade came to understand him, as far as he was aware it makes no difference. Wade always knew what he wanted, and right now it was to be left alone with his thoughts, while he nursed his old wounds. He was an old dog. And old dogs don’t have time for such things as talking crows. He did, however, have time for Wade.

Rex told him this. Wade smiled, stroking the back of his ear. “I know,” he says. “I’ll come by tomorrow with a new bone.” made a noise at the back of his throat, that sounded like he was looking forward to it.

He told his father about his day, and how his knight never did come in the end, but that’s okay because he made a new friend with a talking crow and now he could understanding animals.

“That’s nice.” his father said, but the boy heard, “liar. Just like his mother.”

"What?"

"I said that's nice." his father repeated with a frown.

Wade watched him from the corner of his eye. He was busy watching the game. Wade was lucky to have more than a few words aid between them. The last time he talked in the middle of a football game he earnt a permanent spot at the naughty step outside. It had been raining, and his father didn’t allow him to take a coat telling him, “he should’ve thought of that before he opened his mouth.” he’s learnt his lesson, and now knows not to disturb him. He shouldn’t of stayed. He should of known better. He remained standing at the door, leading into the living room where his dad sat, back to him. He was starting to lose hair at the back, a small circular patch of skin stood where hair had been before, in the past, he recalls from seeing family photos, not from his own memory. He remembers little of his dad. He wasn’t there a lot. When he was, Wade remembers a faceless stranger, his arm around his mum’s waist. He remembers his voice, always loud, unhappy sounding. He remembers how broad he was - his shoulders filled the doorframe, blocking the way out. He remembers he had a hard stomach. Now, it's bloated, falling over the sides of his trousers. He frowns, thinking back to what he said before: “liar,” and thinks he’s not the only one. This confuses Wade because he’s told not to lie, unless it’s to the man in blue, with sirens on the roof of his car. Or to the nice lady, who always stains the outside of the glasses with lipstick and asks him lots of questions about his life, like is he okay? what kind of things does he enjoy doing? how is he feeling today? How did he get those bruises?

When Wade lies, his dad always knows. He tells him he’s lying, even when he thinks he’s not. He says he knows because he’s an adult and Wade’s a “kid.” Wade doesn’t like that word. He doesn’t feel like a kid a lot of the time. So, if his dad says he’s lying, then he must be lying. Because he’s an adult and he knows best. He said that he was like his mother. Wade smiles a little. He remembers his mum. He doesn’t mind being like her. He already is. He has her hair, for one. It’s long, coming to his shoulders and curls at the ends. He brushes it out of his face, behind his ear. He has her smile too, all teeth, with a little gap at the front. He wishes he was more like her, then, she’d never leave not really, because she’d always be there, staring back at him in the mirror.

He has her bravery, too. "No, you didn't." The words have left him before he can think twice.

"What was that?"

"No. You didn't. You said I was a liar. You said I was like my -" he shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't mention her.  
But he does it anyway.

“My ma.”

His father is silent. His still form reminds Wade of a sleeping giant, slowly being stirred awake. His breathing is slow, laboured; he feels the tension in the room built on his shoulders, and slowly press down on him. His father turns to face him. He wishes he didn't. He stands, and not for the first time Wade is reminded how small he is. His father towers above him, blocking out the little light from the ceiling fan. His shadow falls over him, and he feels like he's in the middle of a black, icy ocean. He imagines swimming to the bottom of it and hiding in an underwater cave like the one Ariel had in the little mermaid.

"You and your imagination!" Wade jumps. Had he said that out loud? "always going on, and on about princes and princesses and knights and dragons! Well, I've got news for you, kid. None of it is real. There's no such thing as happily ever after. Wake up, already! You're here, with me in the real world, in a shitty, little council flat, in a shitty neighbourhood, with your shitty father, and your poor excuse of a mother isn't coming back." he was red in the face. A bead of sweat fell from his brow.

"...she said she'd come back. She said -"

"She lied. That's what fairytales do, Wade. They make people into liars."

"...You're right." his voice was shaking. "fairytales aren't real. If they were, they would've warned me about monsters like you!" he turns and runs to his bedroom.

He leans against the door, catching his breath. He tries to listen to see if he followed but can’t hear over the sound of his own heartbeat. He kneels on the floor, his arm wrapping around himself tightly.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mumbles to himself. With a fist full of hair on either side of his head, Wade rolls back into the door, the back of his slamming into it, puncturing each word with a loud, shuddering thud.

“Who are you calling stupid?” said a small voice.

Wade’s breath caught in his throat, looking around the room. There was no one - so he thought. The voice came again, a little closer this time beside his head, “Up here!” Wade leans his head backwards and saw, at the corner of the door was a thread, attached to the end was a spider the size of the palm of his hand.

“it’s hard enough making a web without you shaking it.” Wade could hear the frown in its voice.

He rubbed the back of his sleeve over his tears, sniffling, “sorry.” he says, looking down at his knees, drawn close to his chest.

The thread lengthened, as the spider sunk lower to the side of Wade’s face. “I don’t think your stupid,” it said a moment later.

“You don’t?” he sniffed.

“Well, I don’t know any other little boys who can talk to spiders. Do you?”

“I can talk to all animals,” Wade said, his chest rising a little as he spoke.

“See! Now who else do you know who can do that?”

Wade scrunched up his nose in thought, “Dr. Dolittle. And he’s a doctor!”

“Oh. Well, besides him.”

“No one!”

“There you have it then,” it said crossing the front of its legs over themselves, seemingly satisfied with itself.

“Dad doesn’t believe me.”

“Well, for me to understand that I first have to ask you a question.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s a ‘Dad’?”

Wade giggled in spite of himself. “A Dad is someone who raises you.”

“Why do you need raising? Is it because you can’t stick to ceilings?”

“Not that kind of raising! Like, looking after. They feed you, clothe you, they take you out to the park and play pretend with you, and they help you with your homework and tell you bedtime stories at night. And when you’re hurt or upset they give you hold you and tell you everything is going to be okay.”

“Where’s your Dad now?”

“Downstairs.”

“But you’re upset. Why isn’t here, doing all the things you said Dads do?”

Wade wraps his arms around his knees. “Sometimes they forget. Or they’re too busy.” he sticks out his chin a little, '' I'm a big boy now. I should be able to look after myself,” he rehearses the lines his dad told him when he turned ten years old.

“Dads can stop being Dads?”

“Some of them.”

They’re silent for a moment. “Can I be your Dad?”

Wade laughs, “You’re a spider!”

“So?”

“So, spiders can’t be Dads.”

“Ever heard of Daddy long legs?”

“...good point. You still can’t be my Dad. I already have one.”

“Not a very good one.”

“He’s still mine though. That counts for something.”

“Does everyone have a Dad?”

“Not always. My neighbour Scott doesn’t have a Dad.”

“What’s a neighbour?”

“Someone who lives next door to you, and sometimes they come to borrow your sugar. Atleast, they do on TV. The only thing Scott ever borrowed from me was chicken pox last summer.”

“That makes us neighbours! I live in the room next to this one. There’s lots of boxes in there now. You use to come in to see a woman. She use to sing. Then she got a bad cough and she stopped.”

“That was my Mom’s room.” Wade says quietly, “she sang and played on the piano.”

“Why did she stop?”

Wade fell silent, resting his head on his knees. A distant, pained look crossed his face - it was there one second, then gone the next, replaced by a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re my neighbour!” he announced, suddenly coming to stand on his feet, nearly knocking the spider off its thread in the process. “My friendly neighbourhood spider.”

“I be the best neighbour you’ve ever had. I’ll borrow your sugar all the time.” the spider promised.

Wade held out his hand, like his Dad taught him how to when greeting adults, “Wade Wilson, nice to meet you.”

The spider hesitated, “I’m spider!”

“Is that your real name?”

“That’s what people call me when they see me.”

“That’s what you are, not who you are!”

“Oh. There’s a difference?”

“Ma had a whole section of self-help books that said so. I’ll lend then to you some time. Don’t worry though, this is an easy fix! We’ll think of a name for you. It has to be something special,” Wade decided, “because you’re my first friend.”

“Who did you talk to before me?”

“Pops says I don’t need friends, I have a big enough imagination to make one. But it’s hard to have a conversation with someone that isn’t there. Sometimes, I take out books from the library, the ones with pictures in, and set then up around my bed and talk to them. Atleast then I have something to look at.”

“Did they ever talk back?”

“They’re pictures. They don’t talk.”

“Neither do animals apparently,” it quipped back.

“Well. They speak in a different language,” he said matter of factly.

“What do they speak?”

Wade looked over at his collection of books besides his bed, “I don’t know. Only artists can speak it.”

“Artists?”

“People who create. Like…” he looks over the titles on the spine of the books, “JK rowling, Roald Dahl, Dr. Seus and Beatrix Potter.”

“I like the sound of that last one.”

“Beatrix could understand animals too!”

“Does that make you an artist?”

Wade shrugs, “I dunno. Maybe.”

“Did she have a friendly neighbourhood spider?”

“No, but she had a rabbit. His name is Peter and he wears a little blue waistcoat that he stole from a scarecrow.”

“Peter.”

“What?”

The spider walks over to Wade’s hand, that was still extended and had been forgotten about.

“My name is Peter. It’s nice to meet you, Wade.” Peter says confidently, lowering its legs onto his hand. Wade moves it slowly up and down.

“You too.”


	2. PJ sandwiches, colours and sharks.

The next day, Wade decided that Peter needed to see more of the world. For Wade, the world consisted of the walk to school and back again, with the exception of a few detours along the way. After all, he had made a promise to Rex to bring him back a lamb chop, and since he didn’t have any in the freezer, and he knew the butcher’s down the road wouldn’t be throwing leftovers out until later in the week, Wade opted for making him peanut butter and jam sandwiches before school instead. The last bit of peanut butter had been scraped from the bottom and given to Peter after learning that don’t have tongue, tasting with what’s called sensory organs on their legs and pedipalp - the little pinchers at the front - from Wade’s book on biology.

Rex was waiting for Wade by the chain fence, shaded by an apple. The apples hadn’t been picked, and had started to rot on the floor, drawing in flies (to Peter’s delight). While Wade tried to force the sandwich into the small holes, that interconnected the metal fencing, Peter went in search of his own breakfast. Missing most of Rex’s open, awaiting jaw, Wade’s hand came back even stickier than before. He would’ve thrown it over the fence, but last time he did that was with a stale biscuit. Over the fence it went - straight inside of the cup of tea of his unsuspecting neighbour. He ran before his neighbourhood registered what had happened. 

After his fill of flies, Peter hid inside of Wade’s hoodie and asked him what ‘school’ was. 

“Ma said it’s where creativity goes to die. It’s all about the grades. They don’t leave room for mistakes, that’s why she wanted to homeschool me. But she couldn’t stay awake long enough to teach me anything, apart from painting and how to play music. She would always stay awake for that. The best part of school is playtime! Oh, and Wednesday when its show and tell.”

“What’s that?”

“You come in to class with something to show and tell them all about it. Last week, Scott - Rex’s owner - bought in a pair of red tinted glasses he has to wear, after a major eye surgery. He has to wear them all the time now. Bob bought in his collection of knives, Inez wore a cowboy had that went with her gun holsters and Domino came in with a black eye.”

“Are they friends of yours?” 

“We’re the best of friends! - well, Scott not so much. He plays with the older kids.” Wade said, a little deflated, “but that’s okay, because everyone else likes me, they say I'm loud and never know when to stop!” 

Peter thought these were fine qualities in a friend. 

“Stop at what, exactly?”

“That’s the thing - I never stop, so I don’t know what it is I should be stopping at, because it happens so quickly. It’s like counting cars on a busy roundabout. Sooner or later you’ll close count, and all you see is blurs of red, blue, green,-”

Peter’s head bobbed along to Wade’s listing of colours, only interrupting towards the end to confess, “I don’t see colour.” 

Wade’s hand came over to his mouth, “you don’t? That’s awful!” he gasped, earning a few odd looks from the parents, saying goodbye to their children at the gates. Peter didn’t ask why Wade’s dad wasn’t there to say goodbye to him. Looking down at his feet, he continued to recite the names of all of the colours in the rainbow. From the corner of his eye, Wade watched a other crouch down in front of her daughter. Peter didn't ask why his father hadn't bought him.

Wade followed her hand, coming towards her daughters face. He tensed, and slowly relaxed when he saw she was tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The mother leaned down, kissing her chastly on the cheek, then releasing her to run into the open, waiting arms of her friends.

Peter didn’t ask Wade where his friends were either. Instead, he said, “you’re the smartest friend I have.” and it was true. None of his friends knew all of the colours of the rainbow. Wade whole face lit up at the compliment. 

Wade set his bag down in one of the cupboards, taking our what he needed for the day.

He went to his seat and lined his markers on the table, pointing to each one, announcing each colour. Peter didn’t tell him that no matter how many times he made Peter repeat it, he couldn’t tell them apart. Instead, he asked for other ways to ‘see’ them, the way he sees most things: by touch. What did it feel like? What sound did it make? Does it smell? What does it taste like?

Wade paused, pursing his lips in thought. The teacher started the lesson talking about numbers, behind then on a blackboard was a series of formulas left unanswered. 

“Front row, you have 15 minutes to complete the questions on the board,” announced the teacher, leaning back in their chair, “back row you have 20. In silence, if you please. I have marking to do.” From where Peter sat it didn’t look like marking. It looked like a video of a cat playing the piano.

Peter looked down to see far Wade was, and saw that he hadn’t even started. Instead, he was answering Peter’s questions. 

“They’re much more interesting,” said Wade, feeling Peter watch him.

“Why does the back row have longer time?”

“Because we need it. The back row is for students who are slower to learn. Ma says I have difficulty concentrating because my brain is wired differently. That doesn’t make it wrong. Just different. Pops thinks it’s because I'm lazy.” he shrugs, “I don’t know what to think.” 

Peter leaned over his shoulder, looking at the list of colours, next to then were descriptions of the word.

Red - It’s like flames, dancing in front of your eyes. It’s blood. It’s a throbbing chest. It’s anger. It’s a hiss of a cat and the bristle of its back. It’s a low, guttural rumble. Fire engines racing to save lives, lips of a corpse. 

Orange - It’s the passing of time. It’s unwashed nail beds and teeth, floating in a glass of water. It’s sunken eyes. It’s the setting sun. It’s runny eggs the next morning. It’s warm lucozade by the swimming pool. It’s pages of an old book. It’s empty pill bottles.

Yellow - Chunks of blonde hair on a comb. It’s bees. And the seaside. It’s holidays and days before. It’s the sound of a piano. 

Green - Empty beer bottles. It’s weeds. It’s mucus. It’s poison. It’s balls of tissue full of snot. It’s exit signs and fire doors. It’s pressed flowers.

Blue - The crash of ocean waves. It’s jellyfish. It’s an endless blue sky. It’s time slowing. It’s latex gloves. It’s veins. It’s wires. It’s crushed up ice. It’s birthday cake on napkins. It’s the still of a breathe. It’s lungs. It’s water. It’s both, filled to the brim of each other. It’s forget me nots. 

Indigo - It’s chunks of crystal. It’s incense. It’s hands clasped. It’s praying. It’s burnt marks on your knees. 

Violet - It’s deep, unattainable space. It’s the smell of lavender. It’s nothing as it seems. It’s hiding. It’s bruise marks. It’s dreams. _It’s - _

The teacher’s hand closed around Wade’s shoulder. “Did you hear me, Mr. Wilson?” Wade shook his head. “The question on the board if you please, Mr. Wilson.” everyone was looking at him down. The teacher sneered, looking down at him with an upturned nose. Their hand came away, they tsked, rubbing it over the front of their trousers.   
“Today, Mr. Wilson.” Peter didn’t like how the teacher looked at him. The other students were no better. They all looked at him like he was a punchline to a joke, that Wade wasn’t in on. 

  
Peter looked at the board, back at Wade.

The board read: A car is traveling 75 kilometers per hour. How many meters does the car travel in one minute? Peter didn’t know much about cars, other then they came in many different colours and they were too big and fast to catch in his web.

  
That said, he knew the answer to be “1250 meteres a minute,” and said so to Wade, who repeated it back to the teacher. 

The teacher ready to correct him, swallowed back her response.

  
  
“Lucky guess.” she mumbled, “let’s try another one, shall we?” stalking over to the front of the class, she cleans the chalkboard off. In its place, another formula is written. Peter answered, Wade repeated. This went on, and on, and on. By the end of the lesson, the teacher has chalk dust all over their hands, and on the front of their clothes from having to clean the board so often. The students watched, averting back and forth from Wade to the teacher, the tension increasing with each correct answer. They sat on the edges of their seats, waiting to see who’d break first. With what little chalk was left, the teacher stood in front of the board.

  
  
  
"Let’s see you figure this out then.”

On the board, it read: 

Fermat’s Last Theorem: states that no three positive integers a, b, and c satisfy the equation an + bn = cn for any integer value of n greater than 2.

“Do take all the time that you need, Mr. Wilson. I doubt you’ll come close to the correct answer.” leaning back in her chair, the teacher - who’s name Peter had forgotten, and no longer saw it worth knowing - had a look in her eye, the same look Peter saw in sharks in a nature documentary Wade had shown him. This shark had smelled blood and was in no rush to stalk after her prey. She folded her hands on the desk, looking at Wade expectantly.   
“Do note, the longer you take the less time your fellow classmates will have for recess.” the students moaned, deflating in their chairs. Their protests were silence with a wave of her hand. “But, if you admit you don’t know it and apologise for not paying attention in my class, I’ll let them go. You, on the other hand, have to spend the rest of the week indoors.”

“And if I’m right?”

She laughed, “If you’re right, Mr. Wilson I’ll not only let you go on next week’s field trip, but I’ll let you choose where to go.” this peaked Wade’s interest. He had been banned from field trips after a visit to the museum that resulted in 25.2 metre long blue whale skeleton, suspended from the ceiling to disattach and fall. Fortunately for Wade, there was no one around to receive the brute force of it since the exhibit had been sectioned off, in the process of redecorating. Last time he heard, they were missing a bone. 

The hairs on the back of Wade’s arm raised, as a voice filled his head. It was The Truth. It sounded a lot like the teacher’s. It said, “_This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I need this - this brief, moment of triumph. My marriage is falling apart. I’m living with my sister. I don’t know what to do anymore. I need to see if i’m still clever, of if i’m wasting my time here. If i-_” 

Wade felt something bristly against his ear. The Truth fell away. He risked looking at Peter. he didn’t have to turn far, for Peter had come closer, crouching near the crook of his neck. Several eyes stared back at him.They reminded Wade of tourmaline. His mother had lots of crystals. She said black tourmaline was one of the most powerfulest gems, meant for protection. Looking into Peter’s eyes, he found himself believing her.

The black tourmalines blinked back, like cleve, little eyes. That’s because they were clever, little eyes. Peter liked numbers. They were easy to follow, and a lot like webs. Every thread of webbing had an end, and ever end had a start, and every start and end had an inbetween. All he had to do was to start at the beginning, work his way to the end and not disregard the in between, and his web of thought would be complete. He did so in a low, earnest whisper, rising in pitch as each thought, each thread, came together in a calculated answer:

“For any integer n>2n>2 the equation xn + y n = z n x n + yn=zn has no solutions where x, y ,z∈ Z x, y ,z ∈ Z and x, y, z > 0 x, y, z > 0.” 

The room fell silent. Peter didn’t have to see colour to know that the teacher had gone pale. Sharks, Peter thought, always had a blindspot. Luckily for Wade, was very good at staying in people's blind spots. Very good indeed.He was a clever little spider and he wasn’t about to lose to a fish out of water.

After all, what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t let his friend go on a field trip?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> I don't know if that answer is correct, but for the sake of the story let's say it is. 
> 
> I'm trying a different style of writing, so apologise if it feels a bit off in some parts. Let me know what you think!
> 
> A new chapter of Wanted: Step dad will be coming soon...


	3. The sandcastle, the bully and the butterfly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: Mention of death and transphobia language.

“Did you see the look on her face?” not for the first time that afternoon, Wade was re-telling the story of how The Shark - an alternative name, adopted by Peter to save from future confusion - didn't say another word to Wade, leaving the class unattend in the middle of the lesson and was later seen with a box full of her stuff, heading towards her car. It was later reported she had handed in her resignation.   
  


In the meantime, Wade and the rest of the class was more than happy to wait for a substitute teacher to be found, and took an earlier break. Wade was sat in the sandbox, evening out the sides of a sandcastle. It was Peter’s - or so Wade said. Peter didn’t see the need for a castle. He wasn’t royalty as far as he knew and he was only smaller, he didn’t need an entire castle to live in when he had Wade’s room. He didn’t say this of course. He didn’t want to sound ungrateful.    
  


A shadow fell over the sandcastle. Peter frowned, but you wouldn’t of been able to tell, unless you were Wade, who was the only human that would come close enough to tell the difference between when he was happy or sad. Peter wasn’t either. He was confused where the sun had gone. It was too early to go to bed. Peter looked up. It must be behind that boy.   
  


“How did you do it then?” there were more of them now, flanking the boy. The boy was much bigger than Wade. 

Wade didn’t look away from the sandcastle, “well first, I get a bucket of sand-”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I know how to make sandcastles, what I don’t know is how tricked everyone into thinking that you’re some kind of genius,” he sneered, eyeing him up and down.

“I don't need to prove anythin’ to the likes of you.”

“The likes of me? What’s that supposed to mean?” he took a step forward. Peter inched off the bucket handle, down the side and closer to Wade. Whether he could see him or not, Peter wasn’t about to let him do this alone. Whatever ‘this’ is, Peter wasn’t sure.

“A bully.” he answered plainly.

Ah. That’s what ‘this’ is, Peter thought. 

“You think you’re all that, don’t you? Now that you answered one question right, you think you can go around and say what you want, well I've got news for you, Wilson. That ends today. You don’t belong here. You’re a weirdo, running around playing princess. No one wants to rescue a princess with a dic-  _ ARGH _ !”

Wade watched as Peter crawled on the side of his leg. The bully shaked his leg, falling backwards on his behind. He screamed, crawling backwards on his elbows. “Get it off me, get it off me!” he looked around and realised he was alone. His ‘friends’ had ran off, leaving him with a very pissed off tarantula. Peter was inches from his face. They stared at each other, before the bully’s eyes rolled back, the rest of him followed. 

“Peter!” Wade scooped Peter into his hands. “What were you thinkin’? You coulda been hurt!”

“I was rescuing my princess.”

Wade’s face turned red. “I-” his expression softened, “thank you.” he carefully set Peter down inside of his hoodie, “let’s leave before he comes to.” 

* * *

  
Wade was lying down in the shade, underneath an oak tree. He was watching the clouds go by, when he overheard Peter talking to himself.

“What?” then, remembering his manners, he said “I mean, pardon?” 

“What did he mean when he said that a princess can’t be a boy?” 

“Dunno. I asked Ma about it once, she said I had a whole world inside of me. It’s full of knights who are girls, boys who are princesses, queens who live forever and kings who don’t raise their hand to either of them.”

“And spiders can be friends.” 

“And spiders can be friends,” Wade repeated back. “Everyone has a world inside them. Sometimes, the worlds collide and they see how different two worlds can be. People don’t like that. They want to be reassured that their world is the only world, because it makes them feel special. They get mad or scared and try to mold my world like theirs.”

“Oh,” said Peter, pausing to mull this over, “their universe must look very small, with so worlds looking the same.” really, saw no sense in having worlds all look the same. After all, they’d be no point in exploring, if everywhere you went was repeated; imagine that, turning a corner and being back where you started, it’d be a never ending circle. If you look closely, you’ll know that no two spider’s webs look the same. Worlds shouldn’t be no different, Peter thought. 

Wade crossed his arms over the back of his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t finish your castle,” he said. Peter sat on his shoulder, he tried to roll onto his back like Wade but it was hard with so many legs. 

“That’s ok. It was too small for the both of us.”

“...You wanted me to live in it with you?”

“Of course, what’s a castle without it’s princess? I would’ve been lonely otherwise.”

“You would’ve made other friends,” Wade mumbled.

“They wouldn’t of been you.”

“Exactly.”

“My world includes the both of us, Wade.” 

Peter looked up. He didn’t feel any rainfall, but there were defiant raindrops running down the side of Wade’s cheek. 

“No one has ever included me in their world since my Ma died. Her world was big enough for the both of us. Then she became ill and I wasn’t allowed to see her anymore.” and then her world became the four yellow walls of her room. 

Then, a singular thought, made him think back to when he was climbing the tree in wait for his prince to rescue him.  After the crow had left, he had fallen out of the tree, he laid there motionless. He hadn’t told Peter how long he stayed there. How long he waited, the last sliver of hope chased away by the shadows, as the sun lowered over the building tops.    
  


From the darkness, he heard his mother call out his name. She had come back. A skeletal hand came from the shadows. Her voice sounded like the rising wind. He could feel her all around him.    
  


And then he woke up.   
  


His eyes refocused on something white flutter past him. He turned his head and saw a butterfly resting on a flower’s head near his. It flew away before he could ask it for their name.   
  


“I made a wish,” he tells Peter, “I wanted to understand animals. Ma loved animals. Before she got ill she planted the garden outside for bumble bees and butterflies. She would leave spoonfuls of sweet water on the window sill for bees to suckle on. The window was always open, she liked listening to the birds in the morning. She used to play for them.”    
  


He closed his eyes. If he concentrated, it was almost like he was there; re-living the last memory he had of her, sat at the piano. A soft, summer breeze parted the lace, trimmed curtains apart. The sun played with the clear stick of crystal, hanging from the window like a lazy cat, casting a shred of multi-coloured lights to dance across the yellow leafed wallpaper.

His mother had her hands on his, spread evenly across the white set of teeth. There was a beats hidden in the instrument’s belly, and it was his mother’s job to tame it. She started off light, her hand never leaving his as she coaxed a sound out of the beast and soon became lost to the act; he knew this because she had closed her eyes. Wade’s hands trailed after hers. This was Wade’s definition of love; to be united in song, so close their rib cages could lock into place, their heartbeats a soundboard, bouncing off each other, matching the pace. The melody softened, fading into a bird’s song. A white butterfly sat on the corner of sheet music that was there for show, then practice. In a blink of an eye the butterfly was gone.

He told Peter about the butterfly. “Maybe they’ll know where Ma went.”   
  
When you don’t have long to live Death becomes an old family friend, that comes over to visit, but Peter is never there to catch sight of them; he’s heard of Death and has many ideas about who they are, and what comes after their visit. He doesn’t share these ideas with Wade.

Instead, he says, “I’ll be with you every step of the way,” because when Death comes knocking at the door and your friend isn't ready to hear it, you lock the door. 


End file.
